


Just wanted to make that perfectly clear

by Fibs



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli, Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Carnival, Gap Filler, M/M, Mrs Greenfeld (Simonverse), POV Bram Greenfeld, Tilt-A-Wheel, at some point, because im a sucker for canon, but they won't kiss because that's the next day, i might add more chapters, insecure bram, just completely canon compliant, there's a little scene added after the carnival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fibs/pseuds/Fibs
Summary: Bram finds a new mail in his inbox, titled with the simple words “Us”, asking him to come to the carnival. Scared, but excited he leaves.The carnival and what happened afterwards from Bram's POV.





	Just wanted to make that perfectly clear

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very much sticking to canon, that is word-by-word, just filling the gaps with Bram's thoughts and giving this scene an end. There won't be a kiss however because it is said that their first kiss was the one in the parking lot the day after, so don't expect any kissing in this one. Maybe later ;) 
> 
> Still trying to figure out English punctuation. Please forgive me, Blue!

Simon hasn’t texted me.

I keep thinking about a reason for that, convincing himself that he has just not seen the note yet, but then that means that he hasn’t even tried on the shirt. Maybe he still thinks that Elliott Smith might judge him. Maybe it was the worst idea I could have come up with. No matter what I try to tell myself, I always conclude that the most probable explanation for Simon’s silence is that I have fatally misinterpreted his feelings for me. What else did I expect?

I sit at my desk and work on the English essay, but ever since I came back home from the play, my thoughts keep driving away to Simon. To Jacques. Not that it had been any different the past weeks. But today it was the play’s last performance and Nick told me that the whole cast - including his newly found girlfriend - would go to the carnival afterwards. The mere thought of Jacques being there would have been enough to make me think about it for the whole afternoon. But now that I know about Jacques being Simon, the thought of not being there with him drives me even crazier. Yes, it was me who refused to give any details, even after Simon had confirmed what I had guessed for so long. But I gave him a t-shirt with what basically accounted for a love letter and my phone number attached to it and I thought it was a great idea, despite all doubts, but now Simon hasn’t texted me for two weeks and maybe the idea wasn’t so good after all. I thought it all through, every detail, from the design and the time to put it on his locker to the color and placement of both notes. He would only see the second note when he changed his shirt in private and nobody else would watch him read it. Maybe that’s just my own pet peeve, but I wouldn’t like to receive a letter like this is public.

I put together all my heart to tell Simon how I feel - Simon, not Jaques. Simon, a real boy with a real locker and not just words on a screen. And I had been so sure that Jacques would understand. That he would like me too. Maybe Nick had recognized the number somehow or maybe Simon had found out who I was on another way, and then he had realized that he wasn’t attracted to me at all or maybe I just wasn’t what Simon had expected behind Blue or … no matter where I start, I always end up with that solution. Simon doesn’t want me.

I decide that it is of no use to stare at the empty page of my essay for another thirty minutes and open my laptop. I just can’t figure out at which point I got it all wrong. So I log into my e-mails to check again for any hints in his more recent e-mails that I may have overseen. Anything to indicate, why he has neither texted, nor mailed, nor worn the shirt. Just anything.

But when I open my in-box, a new message appears on top of all the others and my heart pounds against my chest. hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com. How can a single e-mail-address make me so excited? The subject is _Us_. Like in him and me. I click on the mail before I can even start to be properly scared. And yet my stomach twists with every word I read. Because it is different than in school, because here he is talking to _me_ and he notices me.

> Blue,
> 
> I’ve been writing and deleting and rewriting this email all weekend, and I still can’t get it right. But I’m going to do this. So here we go.

I have his voice in mind and it sounds so much like him and yet, so different, because he is talking to me. About an Us that for some mysterious reason exists and yet he has no clue that it contains me.

> So, first I want to say this: I know who you are.

I frown. I stare at the screen and I feel nauseated and excited and I think in sentence fragments. He knows. Did he know today at lunch? Since when does he know? He knows it.

> I mean, I still don’t know your name, or what you look like, or all the other stuff.

I slowly breathe out again, relieved and disappointed at the same time, which is a feeling I got used to by now. Somehow, I want him to know, but I don’t know how to tell him. I don’t know how to be brave enough for this or how he is dealing with me knowing about him. Being Simon.

> But you have to understand that I really do know you. I know that you’re smart and careful and weird and funny. And you notice things and listen to things, but not in a nosy way. In a real way. You overthink things and remember details and you always, always say the right thing.
> 
> And I like that we got to know each other from the inside out.

It is a really scary concept to imagine that someone - and that someone being _Simon Spier_ \- got to know me from the inside out. It is also the most wonderful thing that I got to know him like that. I can’t read fast enough, absorb every word of it and already dread the moment he will stop talking.

As I read on, I can’t stop thinking of Simon and how he doesn’t know it’s me, the quiet soccer boy from his lunch table. And when he says that he spent very little time actually putting his heart on the line, I think that he has no idea how much I relate to his words. Simon has constantly put his heart on the line, he had asked for my phone number, to meet me, he had been outed to the universe and taken it with so much more bravery than I can even imagine to have one day.

And with every word I read, I fall more in love with him. This beautiful, funny, kind boy who keeps caring. And I don’t care that he hasn’t texted me or why, but the words on my screen, they are true and honest and I instantly believe everything he says. Just the thought of him liking me back, gets me nauseated - but in a good way, if that’s even possible. When he says, that he wants to meet me, he feels so real that he could as well be sitting next to me and have one hand resting on mine as I read. I wish he would.

> I want to try this. And I can’t imagine a scenario where I won’t want to kiss your face off as soon as I see you.

I blush. Maybe it’s good that he’s not sitting next to me. But then, if he would, I wouldn’t need to read this on a screen …

> Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.

Right now, I just want to kiss him back. Back when he hasn’t even kissed me first. I want to take him and kiss him for being such an incredibly beautiful, surprising, honest guy and I want to tell him that I more than like him too. I wish he knew who I was and how much I loved him. Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.

And when I read the word carnival, my heart stops for a second and my eyes flicker over the next sentence in post-human speed. My heart has started to throb again, faster than ever before. I might just die from a heart-attack every moment and it wouldn’t surprise me. My eyes flicker to the clock of my laptop and without a second of overthinking, I jump up, grab my shoes, phone and money and run down the stairs.

“Is everything okay?”, my mom asks as I put on my second shoe.

“Yeah, I just have to hurry, I am sorry.”

She hesitates for a second, more worried than strict and I try to calm myself down a little.

“I am okay, mom. I’m just going to the carnival.” And after another second I explain, “Someone is waiting for me, so I have to hurry.“

She gives me a knowing look and while I wonder if I should have really come out to her, a warm feeling rolls over me. Of course, she’s my mom and this is annoying, but it feels so good to actually tell her the truth. She hands me my keys.

“In that case, you shouldn’t let him wait.”

 _Him_. I spend just a tiny second on thinking how nice it is to hear that pronoun so casually, then smile and grab my keys.

“Thank you, mom.” I kiss her on the cheek.

“Don’t be home too late.”

But as I run to my car, I know that she doesn’t really mean it. I turn on the engine and grab the wheel, while the fear finally kicks in. I am really going to do this. But then I just pull out, no second thought, no way back. I want this. This whole scary, uncertain, doomed to fail thing. I want it with all my pounding, beat-skipping heart. I don’t want vague Tumblr posts and anonymous e-mails and nicknames anymore. I want him to know that it’s me. And I want to believe him that he will still like me the same, I want him to hold my hand and to kiss me and all the things I don’t dare to imagine.

Usually when my thoughts spin around Simon, time has a tendency to fly by and wake me from my daydreams. But today it seems to take ages until I reach the carnival. By the time I arrive, it’s already half past eight. What if Simon isn’t here anymore? My heart pounds so loud against my ribs that I’m afraid I won’t hear my own thoughts anymore. Nevertheless, I stop to buy just a few tickets. Because I think if I meet Simon and I don’t have any tickets, he would be disappointed. I’m not even sure why, but I am breaking all my rules today, so I at least have to do one thing right.

There’s only one person in front of me, because it’s closing soon, and as soon as I hold two tickets, I don’t know what to do anymore. Where is Simon? I start walking and with every step I question my decision a little more. What if he’s not here anymore? What if he has left, because I didn’t show up? What if he’s mad or disappointed or decided that I wasn’t worth the time waiting for? I run through the parking lot and somehow I’m thankful that it is nearly closed, because this way only a few people are left. I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid in my life.

And then I see Simon. He’s sitting in the Tilt-A-Wheel, leaned back, eyes closed. I frown and I’m completely aware of the fact that if I go there, there will be no going back. But I also know that if I don’t go now, I won’t ever go.

So I trade my ticket and with all of my brain screaming “No No No”, I slide into the seat next to him.

  


____________________

  


“Can I sit here?” My voice sounds strange and far away and not like my voice at all. I look at Simon as he opens his eyes and even my heart beat sounds far away.

He smiles and opens the seat belt for me and I can see that he’s wearing the Elliot Smith shirt.

“I like your shirt.” I say before I can stop myself. The words had formed in my head for two weeks, because I had known that if he would wear it to school, I could out myself with only one comment. There were so many ways I could say any ordinary thing and Simon would know it’s me. It’s like a secret only we know.

“Thanks. It’s Elliot Smith.” His smile deepens a little, but it is private, because he’s the only one who knows why it’s so precious. Only that he isn’t and he doesn’t get it.

I could just back off.

“I know.” I look him straight in the eyes as he turns around and the realization slowly hits him.

“It’s you.”

“I know I’m late.”

I can’t think of anything else to say. I want to disappear immediately and at the same time I want nothing more than to see the end of this conversation happening. But it’s so hard to actually be part of it, to say those things, without any safe option, without any going back or knowing how it will end. Simon just looks at me, but this time he really sees me and it is more intimidating than I ever imagined. But before either of us can say anything else, the music changes and the wheel slowly starts to move. To _turn_.

“Oh no.” I close my eyes, just as Simon grabs the wheel and tries to stop it, but he can’t really control it. After our first turn, I press my hands onto my mouth. Why did I come up here? Why, out of all places, do we have to meet in a Tilt-A-Whirl? Why didn’t I wait? Anything would have been better than to throw up on him within the first two minutes.

Somehow I manage to get through it. The hardest point is when the wheel stops and I finally have to move again.

“Sorry”, I murmur, nearly inaudible, eyes still closed. This was probably the worst part of the plan I didn’t make. I can only imagine what Simon thinks of me now. I blew it up.

“It’s okay”, he responds and his voice sounds so much more careful than I’m used to. “Are you okay?”

I nod and take a deep breath. “Yeah. I will be.” But my stomach isn’t my biggest worry right now. Even though it is responsible for the potentially irreparable impression I have made.

As we step outside, my stomach tightens again and I have to sit down at the curb, burying my head in my knees. At least I don’t have to see Simon’s disappointment that way. What an idiot I am. What did I think when I went up there? What did I think when I just rushed here? This happens when I don’t think things through. Simon doesn’t say anything and I’m sure he’s just reliving the ride, asking himself the same questions as I do.

“I just got your e-mail.”, I say after a while of silence, my head still resting on my knees. “I was sure I was going to miss you.”

There is no going back. I outed myself and there will never be a second chance again. Just like Simon will never get a second chance to come out to his family and friends and everybody whose business it’s not.

“I can’t believe it’s you.”, is all he has to answer.

“It’s me.” As much as you wanted me to be Cal Price, it is just me. How could he believe it was Cal Price? We really don’t have that much in common - I thought. I open my eyes and take a shy look at Simon. “You really didn’t know?”

“Not a clue.”

“I thought I was obvious.” I am definitely not who he expected. And it is so hard to read if that is good or bad. But when I look at him, he quickly turns away and even though it is exactly what I did every single time when I was crushing, it hurts, just a little. Maybe I am not what he wanted. Maybe there _is_ a scenario where we meet and he doesn’t want to … well. How did I even believe this would go?

“I think I wanted you to know.” I continue to speak. There’s not a lot left that I can blew off now.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because …”, I try to find the words to explain it. Everything is so much easier through e-mail. When you have all the time to form your words and yet you don’t need it, because they just flow onto the page automatically. Why is it so much harder when he’s sitting next to me? Or even after I found the final proof for who he was. “Because, if you had been looking for it to be me, I guess you would have guessed it yourself.” I exhale. Because I know you didn’t want it to be me. Not the way I always wanted it to be you. Maybe that was why I made the link so fast.

From the amount of time it takes Simon to answer, I conclude that I am right. That he never even questioned if it could be me. It should relieve me, because that was my plan. But somehow I wish, somehow I always thought Simon felt the same way as me, always looking for even the smallest clues and putting together every piece of the puzzle. I guess my pieces fitted Cal Price’s puzzle too well.

“But you never gave me clues.”

“I did.” I actually did, no matter how much I tried to stop myself. Some part of me always wanted him to know. “My email address.”

“Bluegreen118” He looks at me in confusion. I still can’t quite believe that he is here and I am here and we are looking at each other and having this conversation, not via e-mail, but in real life. Some of the nausea from the ride just won’t go if I keep thinking about this. “Bram Louis Greenfeld.”, I say instead. “My birthday.”

“Jesus.”, Simon gasps. "I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re not.”, I respond before I can stop myself. You are quite the opposite of an idiot, Simon Spier. You are wonderful and lovely and humorous and self-confident and soft and beautiful and I wish I was brave enough to tell you how I feel about you.

“I’m sorry”, he says.

“For what?”

“For not figuring it out.”

“But it would be completely unfair of me to expect that.” I may wish he had, but I think I only figured it out because I was crushing on him anyways. And if he was crushing on Cal Price, I guess he saw what he wanted to see as well.

“You guessed it was me.”

“Well yeah”, I start, wondering how much I should tell him. But this is Jacques. If I can’t tell him, whom else should I tell? “I kind of guessed a long time ago. Except I thought”, I hesitate, but Simon is looking at me and I’m sure he doesn’t even realize how much that blows me off. Except that I told him in my emails. “maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.”

There is a small expression in his face, before he clears his throat and I just hope it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. “I guess I should have shut up about who my English teacher is.”

“Wouldn’t have helped.” I can’t hide a small smile.

“Oh no?” He seems surprised, curious, a little awkward, but not even aware of it. It’s just too much. You are just too cute, Simon.

“You sort of talk the way you write.”, I susurrate in the direction of my feet. Somehow, the faint smile stays on my face as I say it out loud. It is like I share this secret knowledge with him. And he hasn’t run away yet. And I haven’t thrown up yet.

“No freaking way.”

I have to laugh, I just can’t stop myself from it. It is just such a Jaqcuesque-Simonish expression. He doesn’t say anything to that, but I can hear him smile and then he scoots a little closer to me and I can feel our arms nearly touching. They are close enough for a thousand volt of energy to jump over and energize me. They are close enough that if I just moved by an inch, I would be feeling his skin on mine. I try to breathe in a normal human being way. I didn’t know I could ever be so incredibly aware of my pinkie finger that is lying on my knee and could easily move to Simon’s. I don’t know if it would be harder to move it or to hold it still.

“But how are you a president?”, Simon asks all of a sudden and I stop myself from watching our non-touching hands.

“What?”

“The same first name as a former president.”

“Oh” He’s so close. “Abraham.”

“Ohhh.”

That’s all I can say. The fact that I exchanged a few sentences with Simon Spier was enough and now that he’s sitting so close, it seems like a good moment to forget how to function again.

“And I can’t believe you rode the Tilt-A-Wheel for me.”

“I must really like you.” I smile, while my stomach twists. I can’t look at him. I don’t think I would be able to do anything anymore if I looked at him. I might just die, right here. Because Simon is leaning towards me and in a soft, earnest voice, he asks, “I want to hold your hand.”

“So hold it.” My throat is dry and my voice might crack each moment. But then Simon’s pinkie finger is crossing the gap between mine and his fingers gently wrap around mine. His skin is soft and I close my hand around this part of him. This part that is holding my hand, because he wanted to. Because I am not Cal Price, but because I am Blue.

I finally manage to look at him and he looks back, his eyes constantly moving like he was looking for something or can’t decide where to look at.

I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder. Just like that, just because I want to. He leans against me and the next few minutes I spend trying to process this situation. Way too soon, someone comes to tell us that they are closing and that we have to leave. I immediately let go of Simon’s hand and already regret it, as we get up and a little awkwardly make our way towards the entrance.

When we reach Simon’s car, he turns around. There’s a moment of awkwardness, but then he says, “I’m glad you came.”

I smile, a little scared, but so incredibly happy. “I’m glad you waited for me.”

“I was a little scared you wouldn’t come.”

I laugh a little, because this is so ridiculous, and lean my head against his chest. Simon puts his arms around me and so do I. “I didn’t expect any e-mails.”

“Then I’m very glad you still checked them. Would have been a little embarrassing to do all the rides on my own.”

“I’m sorry.” I mumble in his shoulder. It should be easier to talk when he’s not looking at me, but I guess the whole hugging situation makes up for it. “Simon?”, I say after a while and I realize that I’ve probably never said his name out loud. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I lean out of the hug and face him and somehow it’s not as scary as I thought it’d be. “I more than like you too.”

He smiles and he is so cute, so unbelievably just Simon in every possible way and it still overwhelms me. _One day I’ll tell you how it feels seeing you smile._

“Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.”

His smile is brighter than it should be possible. “You can’t just steal my words and use them as your own without any citation, Bram Greenfeld.”

“You bet I can. And I am the only one who has proof that it were your words. As _you_ claim it.”

Instead of a witty answer, a darker thought hurries above Simon’s face.

„What are you thinking about?“

He shakes his head and smiles, but it is different from the bright grin he had before. „That’s not made for today.“ He firmly presses my hand that he’s still holding.

„You mean, the world isn’t made for sad thoughts today?“ He nods. And I agree. This was enough for one evening. It’s already more than I can even start to comprehend.

“See you tomorrow, Jacques?”

He smiles again. „See you tomorrow, Blue.” I firmly press his hand a last time, before I let go of it and finally turn around to look for my own car.

I am excited and scared and happier than any e-mail ever made me be.

Just wanted to make that perfectly clear.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are highly appreciated and will be answered :) If you've found any mistakes, feel free to drop them and I'll try my best to correct them.


End file.
